Misery
by xhere.there.nowherex
Summary: **WARNING** CONTAINS VERY MINOR SEASON 3 SPOILERS!  Have you seen those set photos xP  My brain...tormented. Seriously.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovely people! I know I'm supposed to be working on _Strange_ right now, and I am, but the set photos were released. And they're driving me insane.**

**Also, my wonderful twitter friends, whom I love dearly (you know who you are 3), and I have been obsessively discussing our mighty love of Peter WHUMP.**

**So, put those two things together in my brain, and this comes out. Plus I was in a really shit mood & decided that it was a good idea to take it out on Peter & Olivia (mostly Peter, because it's hotttttttt). According to whomever tweets as Peter I'm a sadist, which I will vehemently deny. Although, maybe I am, just a little, when it comes to Peter Bishop. BUT CAN YOU BLAME ME?**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own _FRINGE. _**

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This was getting ridiculous, she thought to herself. She had been in this maddeningly dark cell for however long. She didn't know. All she knew was that it was time to get out of here. But how? She began pacing as her thoughts compelled her body into motion. Apparently, it was supposed to help. She wasn't one for just sitting around and waiting anyway. Suddenly, it hit her, like a ton of bricks. There was no normal way out of this cell, trust her, she'd searched and searched, combed every damned centimeter for any weak spot, and had come up with nothing. But thankfully for her, she wasn't normal. Cortexiphan. If the drug gave her the ability to travel between universes, then certainly she could use it to travel within one, right? Right. The drug works mainly on perception, so she just had to perceive different surroundings. That's essentially what she had done with the others and Walter. She'd have to get scared first. But she wasn't scared that time. Oh, but you were, she argued with herself. You were scared, scared of losing…him…forever. Peter. Her mind trailed off.

He was home now, so to speak. He was with…her. The other one was there, and she was here. She wasn't necessarily worried about Walter, or Astrid. Or even Rachel and Ella, for that matter. Her alternate would have to be completely incompetent to even consider harming any of them. She would certainly be found out if she did. Besides, Olivia didn't think her alternate would be able to hurt her sister, after she had lost her own over here. She knew for a fact that Peter wouldn't be in any danger of dying either, but only because Walternate needed him. Olivia did worry though, about Peter not noticing, taking things too far with… Stop. Stop, stop, stop. She absent-mindedly scratched at a non-existent itch on her arm. Focus. Fear. Be scared.

Initially, she had been scared of being locked up in this cell, on this side, by Walternate. She had been scared when they began taking her out to a room full of odd-looking medical equipment, strapping her down, and doing who knows what. She fought it every time. She refused to give up, give in to defeat. She wouldn't give him that pleasure. She was stronger than that. She had, however, stopped begging to be released. She was above begging. After the first several times, she'd just meet Walternate's cold stare with a fiery glare, which seemed to agitate him to the point where he stopped coming to see her. He'd tried questioning her, but she refused to answer any of his questions, which further irritated him. So, yes, at first she had been scared, but now, she was just increasingly annoyed. It frustrated her. She stopped pacing and plopped down in her cell. Well, what now? She let out a heavy sigh as she leaned her head back against the wall of her cell and closed her eyes. Then, something completely unexpected happened.

She was sitting at the bottom of a set of stone steps, with Walter? Her Walter. The nice one. He was rambling on about the deliciousness of coffee cake and how fantastic those little crumbs on it were. He had some in a brown bag. Apparently Peter had stopped on the way here to get him some. She tried to look around, but couldn't. She didn't see Peter anywhere. She momentarily wondered what was going on, until she realized she'd experienced this before. She was seeing through her alternate's eyes, except this time was different. She didn't feel in control at all. She was merely observing. She watched as Walter stood, and felt her alternate follow suit. Upon turning around, she was greeted with a familiar and comforting site. Peter. In a suit. Olivia felt a sharp in-take of breath that was all her own, while her alternate smiled. She heard them speaking.

"So," her alternate questioned flirtatiously, "how'd it go?"

Peter shrugged at her, smiling, "We got the funding." He was excited, proud. He should be. He continued, "The committee was reluctant at first, obviously, until I explained to them the full extent of what we're dealing with here."

"That's splendid!" she heard Walter exclaim.

"Good for you," she heard a voice so very similar to hers tell Peter, while placing a hand on his arm.

Peter looked at Walter, who promptly dismissed himself, leaving Peter alone with her alternate. Peter watched Walter walk away, and then locked his gaze on hers again.

"I wish you would've gone in there with me," he spoke softly, smiling at her again.

"I know," she said, frowning apologetically, then playfully, "but I thought the whole 'business deal' end was your forte."

They shared a laugh. And then Olivia watched as Peter's hand curled itself under her alternate's chin, tilted her face up towards his, and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. Several seconds later, his arm was wrapped around her alternate and hers around him, and she heard Peter tell the wrong her, "Come on." as they walked off, smiling and laughing.

Olivia forced her eyes open and let out an indignant scream. She was incensed, furious. She was also upset and dare she admit it, a tiny bit scared. But that was a good thing. Focus on these feelings, she instructed herself. Feel, Dunham. Feel. So she stood, and embraced her feelings. Every last one of them. Closing her eyes again, she pictured herself outside, out of this cell, free. Olivia felt a tingling sensation rip through her entire being, and when she opened her eyes, she was in the middle of a bustling street in New York City, arms out in front of her, in hospital attire. She was starting to draw attention to herself, so she quickly darted into the nearest clothing store that she found. She managed to conceal herself amongst the customers and clothing racks fairly well. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a blouse, a coat, and boots. She casually entered the dressing room, removed every last tag and sensor on the clothing, and refused to think about how or even why she had obtained such nefarious shop-lifting skills. When she exited the store without turning a single head, or setting off any alarms, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She knew where she needed to head next.

She grabbed a newspaper off of a stand without anyone noticing, and was beginning to think that the citizens over on this side were slightly dense, until she realized they were preoccupied. She glanced around her and she saw dozens of people, shouting and screaming. They all looked angry and disgusted. There were several police officers trying to calm the riotous crowd of protesters. She listened for a moment to see what exactly was going on. It was an anti-quarantine demonstration. Apparently, Fringe Division and their methods of containing incidents over here were not looked upon with favor by the general public. She instantly regretted stopping to listen when she saw a cop notice her. He hurried over to her, speaking breathlessly with relief, "Agent Dunham! Agent Dunham! Oh thank God!" She looked at him. "These people are getting out of control. We are trying our best, but our efforts to quell them are only making them angrier. We need your help." Great. "Uh," she stalled. "As you can see," she glanced over her casual attire, "I'm currently off-duty at the moment, but" she looked around and saw Charlie, along with the man who had shot Nick, "Agent Francis has just arrived, and I'm sure he'll be happy to help you." She smiled at the man and turned before he could object. She could almost swear that she heard him mutter "Bitch" under his breath, which satisfied her to no end for a reason she didn't understand.

When she arrived at the opera house, she noticed that it was closed. Roped off, obviously to keep the public out, as it was the site of a major Fringe event. None of the very few people meandering the streets even thought twice as she entered the place. The street itself was mostly dead, everyone in the immediate area was held up in the protest, including all of the law enforcement officials, something for which Olivia was truly thankful. She jogged up to the stage and stood in the center, just like she had before. She held her arms out. She concentrated. She could do this alone. She was the strongest after all, right? She focused all of her energy and all of her emotions on one thought, home. She closed her eyes when everything started to spin. She felt dizzy and stumbled, and then everything stopped. A sense of calm overwhelmed her and she began breathing heavily. When her breathing slowed to normal, she opened her eyes. The dark, dilapidated, empty, broken-down theater that greeted her eyes seemed so beautiful to her. She did it. She was back.

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**Chapter 2 is written. It will be posted per your request ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

She ran out of the theater. It was late, maybe around ten at night judging from the darkness. She stopped on the sidewalk outside of the theater. What was she doing? Her thoughts were running rampant in her mind and she felt like she was about to be torn in a hundred different directions. Call Broyles. Go see Walter. Hunt down that bitch. Peter. Peter. Peter. She looked around. The city was more alive than ever. Cars zoomed by, and people pushed past her on the sidewalk. Suddenly, she felt something in her hand. She looked down. The paper she'd nabbed. She studied it carefully, finding the date: 27 JUNE 2010. So, it hadn't been too, too long since she'd been captured. Not long enough for her roots to start showing, she noted upon turning around and coming face-to-face with her reflection in a store window. She was getting nowhere just standing around in the middle of New York City. People were starting to stare at her, and pass more slowly. She closed her eyes and reined her thoughts in on a single subject: Boston.

She opened her eyes and found herself in a quieter street, her street. She noticed a pay-phone nearby and decided now was as good a time as any to phone Broyles. After all, she was the hardworking FBI agent who never shirked her duties. Whether she wanted to or not. She dialed 9-1-1, identified herself to whomever it was that answered, and asked to be patched through to the FBI.

"Dunham?" Broyles said, sounding slightly surprised, "I was just about to call you."

"Sir," she started, her voice wavered despite her best efforts to remain as calm as possible, "no you weren't."

"Dunham, what do you mean? Are you alright? Where are you?" although he demanded answers, Olivia could detect a hint of concern in his voice.

"That isn't me, sir. The Olivia that came back with Walter and Peter," she paused, "is the other Olivia."

"So, the incident at the opera house in New York City I was just going to call you about…" he trailed off, waiting for her response.

"Yes, sir, that was me," she let out a heavy breath.

"Where are you, Dunham?" he questioned her.

"I'm in Boston, about a block from my apartment. I think she has Peter with her…"

Before Olivia could finish Broyles cut in, "We're on our way."

She didn't bother responding. She hung the phone up and ran what turned out to be a block and a half to her apartment. Olivia bolted up the steps and stopped just outside her door, breathing heavily. She stood there for several seconds trying to calm her breathing down. Once she had, she reached for her spare key to let her into her apartment. Spare key. For her own apartment. Nice. However, the sounds that greeted her ears upon entering her place were exactly what she hadn't wanted to hear, and were consequently far worse.

She heard Peter and her alternate self, clearly enjoying each other's company, in her bedroom. In her bed. She heard him laugh. It sent a shiver down her spine and made her cringe. She froze for a minute, unsure of what to do. Olivia felt her feet moving her body towards her bedroom. She crossed the threshold. They weren't at it yet, but they were pretty damn close. Her hands were all over his bare chest. Olivia felt sick. They were so engrossed in each other that they hadn't even noticed her.

"Peter?" she said his name at the decibel just above a whisper, and the tears that she were holding back behind her eyes could be heard in her voice.

Peter sat up in bed. He looked at the woman who had just spoken his name. She looked hurt and confused. Pain and betrayal were etched all over her face. He met her confusion with his own, and when he looked to the woman he was in bed with, he saw it. She was staring wild-eyed at her other self, the Olivia from this universe, his Olivia. Her neck was exposed to him, revealing a small, odd tattoo that was definitely a dead giveaway.

"Shit," he muttered.

He was so angry at himself. Big, stupid, idiot, his mind scolded him. You should've noticed the differences. You should've seen it, how could you not have known? He felt disgusted with himself; this wasn't his first time in her bed. He roughly shoved the woman off of him and immediately got out of the bed. He watched as his Olivia backed slowly out of her room.

Back pressed against the wall, she slid slowly down to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. No. She thought. This could not be happening. Everything went numb, her mind, her body, her emotions. Numb. She sat there staring at her alternate self in her bed. She wanted nothing more than to burn that bed and those sheets and what the hell ever else happened in between them. It enraged her and revolted her and she just wanted to set it all on fire. And that's exactly what she did. Unintentionally, of course. She had had such a clear picture in her mind that it had become reality. She saw her alternate self screaming, scrambling around trying to grab her clothing. Running after she'd dressed rapidly, only to be stopped by the team of agents that Broyles had accompanying him. Peter was next to her, squatting at her side, saying something into her ear that sounded blurry. She couldn't quite make it out entirely. Olivia sat frozen on the floor, eyes glued to the dancing flames.

"Olivia! Olivia? Olivia!" Peter's voice echoed in her ears, but it sounded so distant she barely heard it.

She just continued sitting there, watching her apartment burn as members of the local volunteer firehouse attempted to put it out as quickly as they could. She could swear that she felt someone's arms around her, scooping her up. It was Peter.

She heard him at her ear again, "Come on, Olivia, we have to get out of here."

Olivia tried to respond to him. She couldn't.

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**Hating me yet? That was really hard to write, nearly killed my brain. Anyway, Chapter 3 is written, and you know what you have to do to get it ;)**

**Also, I feel I should mention, Peter WHUMP is in Chapter 4. Serious Peter WHUMP. I mean, ouch. Poor Peter!**


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn't exactly fully aware of what was going on. His body was in overdrive, several steps ahead of his brain. He was doing and then thinking, or rather, realizing. What he didn't understand was why she was just sitting there, staring off into space. He called to her, but she didn't seem to hear him. He needed to get her out. So he gathered her in his arms and carried her out, but something was wrong. Something felt wrong. She was cold and rigid, and she didn't react to his contact at all. He swiftly carried her out of her apartment, smoke billowing out her door as the firemen extinguished the flames. He raced down the stairs into the cold night air so typical of a Boston Summer. He surveyed his surroundings. There were police cars everywhere, several FBI standard issue SUVs, two fire engines, and three, wait, make that four, ambulances. He glanced down at Olivia and saw…nothing. He carried her over to the nearest ambulance and set her down.

Suddenly, his attention was turned in the direction of a screaming Olivia, the alternate, who was thrashing in the hold of four FBI agents. "Let me go!" she demanded as she fought hard against the men who were dragging her, cuffed, into one of their black SUVs. Peter saw Broyles, who noticed Olivia sitting in the ambulance, being examined by a frantic EMT. He walked up to Peter.

"Bishop," he said coolly, "What happened?"

"I," Peter started, he was panting and verging on hysterical, "I…I…I don't know." He stuttered it out. "There's something wrong…she's not right…Olivia…I…don't know," he breathed out frenetically.

Broyles spoke to the EMT, "Have Agent Dunham transported to the nearest hospital immediately."

The young woman nodded and pulled Olivia into the ambulance. Peter attempted to follow, but felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked down to see Broyles' holding him back. He looked at him stupidly.

"Bishop," again speaking so calmly, which threw Peter off, "I think we're going to need to bring your father in on this one. Do you have your vehicle?" Peter shook his head. Broyles headed over to one of the men collecting evidence from the scene, retrieved a set of keys, and handed them to Peter, stating, "And Bishop, you might want to put some clothes on." Broyles walked off casually, as if it were nothing.

Peter looked himself over. He was in nothing but his boxers and suit pants. No shirt, no shoes, no dignity. He was quickly losing what little self-respect he had left for himself. He hit the unlock button on the keys and saw the tail lights flash, on her car. Great. He climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. He breathed in deeply as the engine roared to life. Big mistake. It smelled like _her_ in the car. The wrong Olivia. Her scent, he now noticed, was distinctly different from his Olivia's. She's not yours, a voice in his head picked at him, she deserves better. He slammed his fists on the steering wheel as he sped through the city to the house where Astrid was staying with Walter. When he shut off the car, he ran an exasperated hand over his face, pushing it through his hair. He looked like a half-naked mess as he entered the house, startling Astrid.

"Peter? What are you doing here?" she questioned, her voice full of worry, "I thought you were with…"

He cut her off, "I made a mistake." He sounded on the threshold of breaking completely.

Walter shuffled in, "What's going on?" He looked at Peter, noticing his state of undress, "I take it that it didn't go well with Agent Dunham this evening?"

"We brought back the wrong Olivia," Peter explained.

"What?" Astrid nearly shouted, shock and horror written all over her face.

"So, where is the right Olivia? Is she back?" Walter asked. Peter nodded. Whoever would have thought Walter would be the voice of logic and reason. Ever.

"They," he stammered, "they took her to the hospital. Broyles wants you to check her out, Walter. There's something wrong."

Walter looked petrified. Astrid stood up and guided Walter towards his room, speaking soothingly, "Walter, why don't we get you dressed so we can go see how Olivia is doing?" She glanced back at Peter, "Same goes for you."

Peter headed for the laundry room looking for something, anything clean. He wanted to take a shower and scrub until his skin was raw, to get _her_ off of him. He felt dirty and vile, but also that he didn't deserve to be clean. He deserved to wallow in his misery. He was slowly but surely being consumed by his guilt. He was angry with himself, and soon was tossing articles of clothing haphazardly around the room trying to work out his frustration. Then he saw a pile of clothing, folded surprisingly neatly, and he grabbed it and threw the jeans and shirt on. It was only after he was dressed that he noticed these were the clothes he'd worn while he had disappeared into Washington State, when he'd abandoned her. This was all his fault. Instead of staying and waiting to hear the whole story, he'd done was he does best. He ran. Away from everything, from his life, his job, away from her. To make matters worse, he'd run as far as another universe, a universe to which she had travelled to save his sorry excuse for a life. And then he had left her there. Way to go, Bishop. His rage welled up within him and he kicked the washing machine, hard.

"Peter?" Astrid called out from the door frame nervously. She had been watching. She didn't like what she saw. He just looked at her. "Give me the keys," she demanded, "I'm driving."

Peter obliged and followed her and Walter out to Olivia's SUV. The entire drive to the hospital Peter sat in the passenger's seat like the miserable bastard he felt he was. He knew this was bad, because even Walter sat silently in the back. There was an immense amount of tension pulsating from Peter. Why did he always fuck things up so badly? This time, literally. Pig.

They had Olivia seated on a bed. He was staring at her through the window. Peter wondered why they didn't have her laying down. He wanted to run to her, tell her that everything would be fine. But it wasn't. After what he'd done, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive himself, or if anything would ever really be fine again. He felt sickened with himself.

He looked at Broyles, and asked in all seriousness, "How is she?" At least now he sounded somewhat composed.

"They're not sure," he answered.

Peter let out an aggravated sigh. Walter pushed past them, anxiously, "Where is she? I need to examine her!" Astrid followed on his heels, and Peter entered her room seconds later. Broyles left to make a phone call. Peter didn't really care to whom.

"Olivia?" Walter's voice wavered, filled with sadness.

Nothing.

"Walter? What's wrong with her?" Astrid asked worriedly.

"I'm not sure," he stated, but the look in his eye said he had some idea.

After several agonizing minutes of Walter fidgeting around with a motionless Olivia, he muttered, "Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all."

"What's not good, Walter?" Peter was angry. But not at Walter. His anger was directed inward, at himself.

"I'm afraid that Agent Dunham is suffering from a form of catatonia known as _Kahlbaum syndrome_, or retarded catatonia. This form of catatonia is characterized by motionlessness, rigidity, and catalepsy, or waxy flexibility, see," he lifted one of Olivia's arms, and when he let go, it held it's form, "Also, her focus seems distant, and she isn't reacting to any external stimuli, or even any internal stimuli for that matter. I'm not even sure if she can hear us," Walter paused, allowing his words to sink in.

Peter stood there, guilt burning through his entire being.

"Walter," Astrid prodded, "What is causing this?"

"Well," Walter eyed Peter, choosing his words cautiously, "typically _Kahlbaum syndrome_ is a result of severe shock, or extreme mental anguish," Peter winced, "So, something must've triggered her. Couple that with her depreciated physical and mental capacity from traveling between universes, and it makes sense." He looked anxiously at Peter. "Do we," he started, then stopped, before continuing, "do _you _have any idea what she may have been confronted with that could have trigger this, Peter?"

Peter didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes, threw his head back, and ran his hands over his face. He grumbled something as he left her room. He didn't even feel worthy to stand in her incoherent presence.

However, Olivia could hear them. Inside, she was screaming. Screaming as loudly as she possible could, but it was no use. She was trapped inside her body, in the cage of her mind. She was devastated. Whatever this was, it wasn't normal, which if you looked at it the way she did, was in fact normal for her. She had a feeling that mostly what this was was physics being a bitch, as Bell had put it, along with her mind trying to protect her from emotional pain. Damn her and all of her absurd issues. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! She just kept screaming to herself, to no avail.

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**Okay. Firstly, for those of you who may find Olivia's catatonic state disappointing and not in-character, consider the fact that she was unconscious for how long after being pulled over & thrown back by Bell? So, given the circumstances, including her increased use of her ability and finding Peter where she found him, I find catatonia completely plausible and even a step up from brain-dead. Really.**

**For those interested in learning more about catatonia, I suggest investigating "Catatonia: A Clinician's Guide to Diagnosis and Treatment" by Max Fink & Michael Alan Taylor. Very, very interesting stuff!**

**And finally, for those of you waiting for Peter to be WHUMPED TO SHIT. That's coming in the next chapter. I first wanted to focus a bit on his emotions and his self-deprecation given what has happened, because I feel that they don't really do that enough in the show. THE MAN FROM THE OTHER SIDE and NORTHWEST PASSAGE were *excellent* Peter episodes, and I wish there were more...CROSS YOUR FINGERS, SEASON THREE.**


	4. Chapter 4

His heavy footsteps carried him grudgingly down the hallway, away from her. He found the nearest lavatory and ducked in, locking the door behind him. He stood hunched over the sink. He gripped the basin tightly, clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes. He thought over everything that had happened in the past few weeks. He had been so blinded by his feelings for Olivia, feelings that she had reciprocated, that he hadn't noticed the differences between the two women, which were now becoming glaringly obvious. The brightness in her eyes that only a woman who had not led such a tormented life could have. How her laugh sounded anything but genuine. The forced smile. Her refusal to go out for drinks with him. The way she barely touched her glass of wine while they were out to dinner. How she constantly wore her hair down, he now realized, to conceal that damned tattoo. Even how she touched him, the restraint with which she'd carried out the act.

Which brought him back to the fact that he had committed the ultimate act of betrayal against the one woman he had sworn to himself to never, ever hurt. He had admitted to himself a while ago that he loved Olivia. He wasn't afraid of his feelings for her, which was not like him at all. He'd had commitment issues ever since he could remember. But with her, it was different. Suddenly he wanted to be there for somebody. He wanted to be there for her, to protect her and keep her safe, and to show her that she wasn't alone. So, he decided he'd wait patiently for her to come into her feelings on her own. Every so often he'd get slight hints that she somewhat had feelings for him. But he wouldn't push her. She was worth waiting for. However, once they got back, and he had her, he went hog-wild. An appropriate term, because he currently felt like a disgusting pig. More animal than man. Except it wasn't her. It was the other one.

So there he stood, drowning in regret for actions he could never take back. Anger seeped out of every cell of his body and consumed him. As if that wasn't enough, his brain added guilt into the madness. He was so infuriated with himself. His emotions washed over him relentlessly and he began shaking with rage until it built up so powerfully that it required an outlet. Peter heard a loud _crack_ as radial and concentric fractures perforated the glass mirror his fist had collided with quite forcefully. He let out a scream that was more of a disgusted, self-loathing growl. The warm sensation of the blood trickling down his hand through his fingers felt good. He looked at his split open knuckles and the tiny splinters of glass and scratches that covered his fist. Good, you deserved that, asshole. He would never forgive himself; he'd punish himself for the rest of his life. He just wanted her to be okay.

Very suddenly, his focus was drawn away from his blood to sounds of chaos coming from the hallway. He exited the lavatory and the hospital was in an uproar. Agents were swarming around; some nurses were running frantically around to check on patients, while others were attacking the agents. What the hell is going on? Peter was beyond confused.

He heard Broyles' strong voice shouting, "I want this hospital put on lock-down immediately!"

His orders were followed by the voice of a nurse on the loudspeaker, ordering a complete lock-down of the facility.

Peter's state of panic at the scene was enough for him to pull himself together. He ran up to Broyles. "What's going on?" he implored.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Broyles was curt.

Peter didn't hold it against him. He was in high alert, gun drawn, eyes peeled. Peter then felt him shove something cold and metallic into his hands. He looked down. He knew it was bad if Broyles was freely handing Peter a gun. Peter scanned the crowd, searching for something, anything, to explain what was going on. That's when he saw him, a familiar and disturbing face amidst all the pandemonium. Peter started towards the man, but he disappeared. Peter broke into a full out run, following the man he'd spotted. He could hear Broyles behind him, demanding to know what Peter saw and where he was going. But Peter was too fast and too focused, so he ignored his questions.

He followed the man down several flights of stairs. They had Olivia on the seventh floor. He watched as the man quickly vanished behind the door to the parking garage. Eight flights of stairs later, Peter crashed into the door leading to the parking garage. It had been locked. Not good enough, Bishop. He was not going to let him get away. Peter peeled his cheek, along with the rest of his tired body, off of the door. He took a few steps back, and with the full force of his entire being, he kicked the door in, shattering the lock. It slammed back in his face, but at least now he could open it. He stumbled through in his rush.

Again, he rapidly surveyed his surroundings, looking for the enemy.

"Oh Peter," he heard a recognizable voice taunt.

He spun around, "Newton."

The man sneered at Peter. Peter exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

Two of Newton's shape-shifters joined him at his side, as he answered, "We're here to complete our mission." A sinister look beset Newton's face.

Peter realized they were here for him, to take him back again. He was not going down without a fight, and if he could help it, he wouldn't be going down at all.

Peter felt the windshield glass shatter beneath the weight of his body as he slammed into it. Damn these guys were strong. He jumped up, remembered his gun, aimed, and fired. Missed. Damn it. He fired a few more times before finally, finally, taking one of the shape-shifters out. Now he was left with Newton and his other shape-shifter. His fist collided with Newton's face. As Newton fell to the ground, he knocked Peter over with his legs, taking Peter down with him. The gun flew out of Peter's hand and skittered under a vehicle. Newton probably thought he now had the upper hand. But this was not the case. Countless visits to Iraq had provided Peter with an immense amount of knowledge when it came to combat. Not to mention his constant need to watch his own back and the necessity of being able to protect himself from the many shady guys he owed money or other favors to.

Surprisingly enough to Peter, the shape-shifter stayed out of the tussle on the floor of the parking garage. Until he realized that they actually need him alive. Peter managed to throw a handful of decent punches Newton's way before Newton threw Peter off of him and returned fire. His fist collided with Peter's face several times. Broken nose, black eye, dislocated jaw. Peter ticked off his injuries in his mind. Newton planted a swift blow directly into Peter's solar plexus and he was doubled over in pain. After several more blows like that along with furious kicks, Peter was writhing in pain on the ground. He looked to his left and saw the gun Broyles had handed to him, barely in reach. He grabbed it and fired into Newton's leg. It wasn't fatal, but it was enough to allow Peter to drag him down to his level. The next several seconds were a little blurry for Peter, probably due to the blood seeping out of the laceration stretching from his forehead extending past his hairline. Newton had knocked him in the head hard with the butt of the gun. Just because he couldn't kill Peter didn't mean he wasn't going to rough him up. He slammed Peter's head down into the cement floor, which disoriented Peter for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the shape-shifter approach the pair entangled in a messy skirmish.

"What do you want me to do about the other one, sir?" The shape-shifter questioned with no emotion.

Newton smiled menacingly, and took great pleasure in responding, "Kill her."

Adrenaline went skyrocketing in tsunamis through Peter's body. Olivia. She was in danger once again, and this time it was because of him. "No!" he shouted distraught.

He grunted as he shoved Newton off of him and leapt to his feet. Luckily enough for Peter, Broyles and his men chose this exact moment to burst through the door to the parking garage. They took out the shape-shifter, who was of little consequence to them, but hesitated when they saw Newton. Their guns were raised and pointed at the terrorist. He merely snickered at them.

"You're weak, Peter," he said, his tone derisive.

He raised his gun and aimed for Broyles. What Newton lacked in combative skills, which really wasn't much, he made up for over double with skills in the art of war. He was a strategist. Every move was carefully calculated at a rapid pace, which seemed a conundrum, but was really a rather useful and necessary skill to possess. Peter heard the gun go off, and he ran. He felt the bullet sting into him somewhere on the left side of his chest. The world blurred as his body fell to the floor, and he could almost swear that he heard Broyles calling out his name, and shouting orders to his men to get help as everything faded to black.

* * *

**Wow. I feel better now. Writing this was rather cathartic. I know. I'm evil. But hey, Peter's soooo hot when he's all broken and bloody.**

**I'm not finished with this yet. I know where this is going. If you hang in there with me, you'll get what you want ;)**

**But I'm going to warn you, I'm back at work now after my mini-vacation, and my job seriously craps me out xP **

**I was planning on waiting to post this until after I had written chapter 5, but certain people were begging for this, so I had to give in ;)**


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